


Swear That I'll Always Be

by Oboeist3



Series: I Used To Have Short Hair [4]
Category: Leverage
Genre: Autistic Parker (Leverage), Christmas Fluff, Eliot Spencer's Cooking, Multi, Trans Character, Trans Eliot, seriously this one is cavity inducing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 08:19:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16114511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oboeist3/pseuds/Oboeist3
Summary: "How'd you do it?" Eliot asks, sliding up beside Hardison, shiny gifts all but forgotten as they stare at Parker in the doorway, snowflakes on her lips and stars in her eyes."I don't know what you're talking about, man. It's a Christmas miracle."(A coda to the Ho Ho Ho Job)





	Swear That I'll Always Be

"How'd you do it?" Eliot asks, sliding up beside Hardison, shiny gifts all but forgotten as they stare at Parker in the doorway, snowflakes on her lips and stars in her eyes. He was hardly a meteorologist, but when the probability of something went from basically zero to one over the span of a few hours, foul play was certain. Foul play that made Parker happy was better known as Alec Hardison.

"I don't know what you're talking about, man. It's a Christmas miracle." he says, but he's still smiling wide, urging him to keep asking. To play the game.

"You realize I just got a _Hanzo_ sword, right?" he says, tapping the hilt and raising his eyebrow just so. Hardison laughs, and it settles in his stomach heavy and warm, like eggnog, because there's so much trust in that, in continuing to poke the bear. Doesn't stop it from being annoying, but well, he became acclimated at some point.

"Two words: Operation Popeye." he declares proudly, smugly, practically preening. Eliot doesn't usually like that, has found that people who claim they're all that are empty on the inside, but Hardison isn't. Everything he says, he backs up, sometimes so well it gets him in trouble. A man of multitudes, his Hardison.

Eliot doesn't miss the way he's placed his explanation on one of their overlapping fields of expertise, military history, instead of the jargon he prefers, detailed and gloriously mapped. It's a little thing, another point in his web of unspoken compromises, of 'the things I do for you two.'

"That's four words." he says, watches his eyes roll the way they do when he's being purposefully obtuse. Annoyance-laced affection is a two way street, with them.

"You know what I meant." he says, crossing his arms over his chest. He's still holding the phone he got, (what had Sophie called it?), and he can see NORAD's Santa Claus tracker on the screen, the path of his sleigh slightly bent along the coast of Canada. It's ingenious and bold and sweeter than raw sugarcane. He doesn't say any of that.

"If you get arrested for perfidy, I ain't breaking you out." he says instead. Hardison slings an arm over his shoulder, sneaks a kiss on his forehead. He's grateful for the bandana then, hiding the rising red of his blush. Stupid, romantic sap.

"Don't think I forgot about you. My place, tomorrow, six pm. Bring food. We're pulling out all the stops, baby!" he says, giving him a weird sidehug and clapping him once before rushing over to Parker, catching snow on his tongue with her, giggling like idiots.

Eliot wonders if he knows he's been spending the past two days making the perfect turkey dinner, or if he just assumes Eliot can summon food at will just to make his party not suck. Either way, he's not going to let them starve on Christmas Day. He's not a monster.

Not anymore.

* * *

Well, the good news is that it was easy to pick out Hardison's place on the block. The bad news was the reason behind that was an absurd and possibly illegal level of illumination, dozens of strings of lights across his balcony and scattering down the brick of his brownstone. It would be charming if it wasn't so intense as to make his eyeballs scream.

Eliot keeps his eyes on the street until he's at the door, now adorned with a garishly gold wreath, which he realizes after knocking, appears to be real gold. Definitely Parker's work, then, this sudden and overwhelming display of Christmas cheer. He supposes he ought to be grateful she isn't displaying something she's stolen, like back at the office.

"Merry Christmas, Eliot!" says the offending party herself as she throws open the door, almost making him drop his carefully balanced pile of food and presents in her eagerness to hug him. He manages to shift to one hand, feels the softness of her sweater against his chest, pressed against the palm he rests on her back.

"Merry Christmas, Parker." he says, voice gruff with emotion, because there are few things more delightful than your girlfriend leaping into your arms because she's happy to see you, and he's only human.

"Whatcha got there?" she asks when she pulls back, pressing her tiptoes to the floor and rolling back onto her heels, eager and excited. She continues the motion as they walk towards the kitchen, which is rather impressive and incredibly adorable.

"Uh, turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, green beans, and lemon squares for dessert." he says, pointing to each tupperware container accordingly.

"What about the ones in wrapping paper?" she asks, and he stops and stares at her for a moment, unsure if she's having one over on him.

"They're your presents. The long one is Hardison's and the square one is yours."

He didn't think it was possible for her to be more thrilled, but he was proved wrong as her hands started flapping and she shouted towards one of the bedrooms, where Hardison presumably was.

"Alec, he got us stuff too! I told you he would!" she says, with all the self-satisfaction of a vindicated child. "I'm going to put them under the tree!"

Eliot smiles as he starts to unpack the food, place it on serving dishes that were bought by him and seemingly only used by him, but technically belonged to Hardison. Plating was a soothing activity, making everything look presentable and delicious. He found himself humming to the music floating in the background, the words too soft to hear.

"Oh wow, you didn't cut any corners, did you?" Hardison says, marveling at the spread as he wraps his arms around Eliot's waist, rests his head on his shoulder.

"You said bring food. Didn't want to miss anything."

"You are an absolute legend." he croons, kissing his neck before Eliot turns just enough to kiss him properly, cradle the back of his head and draw it into something slow and hot. When they separate, Hardison whines at the loss, and Eliot smirks.

"Revenge, unlike turkey, is best served cold. Go get Parker so we can eat."

"I take it back, you're evil." he pouts, but does as he's told.

* * *

"Can we open presents now?" Parker asks, once the dishes have been rinsed and piled into the sink, vibrating in anticipation. The two men look at each other and shrug, which is enough for her. She returns in one trip, placing the six gifts in three separate piles on the coffee table, in front of the TV.

They settle on the couch, her in the middle, and Eliot is surprised when she doesn't reach for her own gifts, but rather hands him one of his own. It's rectangular in shape, and when his fingers trace the edges he can feel the perforations from pages. A book then, though he hasn't the faintest idea what kind it could be.

"This one's from me." she says proudly, and after getting her approval in the form of a nod, he tears the paper off, revealing the title. 'The Evolution of Spanish Architecture from 900-1400 CE, by Dr. Oliver Thompson.'

"Uh, you sure you got the right book, honey?" Hardison asks.

"I'm sure. Do you like it?" she says, but for all the confidence in her statement there's a wiggle of nerves in her question.

"Yea. I've been meaning to get this one for a while. How did you know?" Eliot asks, astounded. She shrugs.

"You like to read before bed, and you have two of his other books. This is the latest one, and you didn't have it yet. I broke into your apartment to make sure."

"You could have just asked for a key, Parker."

"Breaking into things is fun." He can't really argue with that.

"Thank you. It really means a lot." he says, kissing her cheek. She looks very pleased with herself.

"You're welcome. Alec, it's your turn. Give Eliot yours." she says, more demands than anything.

"Well, I didn't break into anywhere, _but_ I did get you something I think you'll like." he says, handing him a box wrapped in polka-dot wrapping paper. He hears a clunk as the contents shift inside, which means it's nothing fragile. It's silly to be trying to guess at something he'll know in under a minute, but he does it all the same. The box is revealed to be a shoe box, with actual shoes inside, solid brown boots to replace his old, deteriorating pair.

"There's a bonus in there too." Hardison says, and sure enough there's a little slip of paper, a voucher for 'One Complaint-Free Outdoor Hardison', complete with a drawing of a fishing pole and beanie.

"I only get one?" he asks, even though his chest is tight with the thoughtfulness of it.

"After what happened last time, you should be grateful I offer at all." he replies, which isn't exactly unfair. Armed militias tend to ruin most trips.

"Guess I'll have to make it worth your while so you'll come again."

"You can try." he scoffs, and now it's a challenge. And he has just the thing to help tilt things to his advantage.

"Hardison should open mine next, if that's good with you Parker." She nods as Eliot pushes the long box towards him, with a warning.

"Be careful."

"Careful about what?" he asks, but follows the warning, carefully lifting the lid from the long box, and gasps as the light glints off metal like he's looking into a treasure chest. "No way." he says, looking back and forth from Eliot and the gift. "You got me a replica Mek'leth?! One of the most iconic Star Trek weapons of all time?"

"It's not a replica. It's an actual short sword. They're based on weapons from ancient Gaul. So I made one."

"Holy shit, I'm going to marry you."

"I guess that means you like it."

"I _love_ it. I'm going to tell all my Trekkie friends, they'll freak."

"Don't actually try to use it without training, you'll stab yourself."

"Your lack of confidence in me is hurtful."

"Hardison."

"I solemnly swear I will not disembowel anyone with my amazing murder sword." he promises, crossing his heart. Eliot refrains from pointing out that a gladius would be better suited to that end, short swords were mostly for decapitation. He didn't want Hardison to be the sort of person who needed to know that, except maybe in a video game.

"Did you get me a sword too?" Parker asks, shaking the square box.

"Not exactly." he says, and when she opens the box, a stuffed bunny emerges. It's smaller than her childhood one, made of soft, velvety fleece. She stares at it curiously for a few moments, and Eliot starts to explain.

"I figured, we have to travel a lot, and taking Bunny isn't safe, so maybe this could be your on the road version. I know it's not the same level of meaning and all, and I can get you cash instead, if you want." he says, but when she squeezes it to her chest and looks up at him, he thinks he made the right call.

"Elly-Bunny is special too. You got her for me. Thank you." she says, and it's not overly emotional, but he knows how much Parker treasures that stuffed animal, and so even being adjacent is almost overwhelming. Even if the name is a bit on the nose.

"If you're going to do a girl name based off of me, you might as well use my old one." he says with a shrug, faux-casual, even though the thought is pretty fucking scary.

"You don't have to tell us." Hardison chimes. "We can think of a cool girl name later, right mama?"

"I want to." he says, decision locked in. Honestly, he's already gotten through the hardest part, and he knows this won't override what he is in their head. He's been Eliot for as long as he's known them. That's not changing.

"It was Christine. It was Gram's name, so that wasn't what I was actually called, but it was my legal name for twenty years."

"Hmm, it's kind of old fashioned. How about Tini instead? It works because she's small." Parker says, her chin resting on the bunny's head, eyes peering through the gap in the ears.

"That is almost painfully adorable, nice job." Hardison praises, and she grins. "You guys are too good at giving gifts though, you've got me outclassed." he grumbles, beckoning Parker to open his gift to her.

"I already have a taser." she points out, not ungrateful, but slightly perplexed. Hardison's whole thing was gifts, and while they didn't always land, he must have been planning this for a while. It seemed strange to get her something she already owned.

"Yes, but you do not have an entirely metal-free taser. It uses silicon-based semi-conductors, so even the most sensitive metal detectors to date won't pick it up. And if you slide off the case, there's a set of lock picks made from the same stuff, including three miniature electronic scramblers. It's small enough that fit in a clutch if you're grifting, and I put a remote self destruct in case some baddies get their hands on it."

"Jesus Christ." Eliot says, because of course he had to reinvent the taser, but better. It was such a Hardison thing to do.

"I'm going to zap so many people with this." she says, watching the arch flicker over the semi-opaque plastic.

"Only the bad guys, Parker." Eliot reminds her, and she shrugs.

"Open mine now, Alec." she says, and the last gift of the night is terribly domestic, a mug sporting various Star Wars characters. "To replace the one I broke. I know it was one of your favorites."

"Thanks, baby girl. You're an angel." he says, kissing her gently, just once.

"I thought angels were good."

"You're good to us." Eliot says, pulling her close so that she curls into his side, and Hardison decides that's his cue to flop onto his lap, as always seems to happen. It's a testament to how much he's changed that he's not only ok with this, but pleased.

"Can we watch Rudolph? I'm still trying to figure out the reindeer games."

"Which version?" Hardison says, pulling up his seemingly infinite collection of media on the TV. A half dozen Rudolph movies float across the screen, seemingly dancing to unheard music.

"The one with the elf dentist and Yukon Cornelius. I think the three of them make a good team."

"The best things do come in threes." Eliot agrees, feeling warm, content, happy. 

Heaven blessed.

**Author's Note:**

> eliot on the inside: waxes poetic about the loves of his life and how much they mean to him  
> eliot on the outside: "hey, these nerds? mine"


End file.
